


I Did(n't do) Exactly As You Said, Pa

by SonnyDLV



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Discipline, Family, Family Fluff, Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonnyDLV/pseuds/SonnyDLV
Summary: AU- Hamilton warns Philip not to duel but he does anyway. He survives but his parents are not happy.





	I Did(n't do) Exactly As You Said, Pa

“Alexander, there you are. Deal with him, please.” Eliza said with a tight grip on her eldest son’s ear. Philip trudged along as his mother pulled him toward his father’s study, in search of his father’s razor strop. Phillip didn’t know what was worse, being punished by his father, who he knew from experience, had a strong right arm, or his dealing with his mother’s ire at this moment. All he could hope in that moment was that his father would calm his mother, if only marginally.

“Eliza? Darling, what’s wrong?”

“I found your son fiddling with your guns. He was dueling with another boy.” Philip swallowed hard. His mother had to be pretty upset if she was referring to him as “your son.”

“Dueling, Philip? I thought we discussed this.” His father asked.

“Yes, Pa.”

“Alexander, did you know?” Eliza yelled.

“My dear, Philip did come to me about this, but I told him that he was under no circumstances to duel. Isn’t that correct, Philip?”

“Yes, Pa, however—” Philip began. 

“No son of mine will be dueling!” Eliza exclaimed and Philip felt his ear being pinched tighter. “I want him thrashed.”

“Philip, go put your nose against the wall while your mother and I discuss,” his father said to him before his parents exited the room. He could faintly hear the muffled voice of his father and the louder voice of his irate mother but couldn’t make out what they were saying. He had been afraid of getting injured or dying in the duel, but getting his bottom warmed like a naughty child he had not foreseen. Surely his father would talk his mother out of this. He himself had dueled many times in his youth. A few moments later, he heard the sound of the door opening and his father walked back in the room.

“Your mother demands you be strapped,” Alexander said. Philip didn’t know if his father required an answer or not, so he chose to stay silent and wait for further instruction. He heard the rustle of papers, meaning that his father was cleaning off his desk, sealing Philip’s fate to the strapping that was to come.

 

“Come sit down a moment first,” he proceeded, gesturing for his son to take a seat in front of his desk. Once seated, Philip fought the urge to look at his shoes, instead forcing himself to meet his father’s stern gaze.

“Explain to me why you disobeyed my orders not to duel with this boy.”

“If you had only heard the shit he said about you--” Philip began.

“Watch your language, young man!” Alexander scolded, “You’re not too old for a good dose of soap in your mouth.”

“Sorry Pa,” Philip said, ears turning red. It was bad enough that he was to be thrashed. He certainly did not want to have his father wash his mouth.

“Continue,” Alexander said, prompting his son further.

“You would not have let what he said slide and I was not about to!”

“Yes, you said this when we spoke previously. But I gave you strict instructions that you were to have your second negotiate a peace. What happened to that?”

“He wouldn’t apologize! To back down would be cowardly. I won’t be a disgrace to your name.”

As soon as Philip spoke those words, he felt his father’s strong hand wrap around his bicep and pull him up out of the chair. A second later, he felt sharp pain on the seat of his breeches.

“Let me make one thing clear,” Alexander said, “You, Philip Hamilton, will never be a disgrace to my name. While I’m not proud of your actions as of late, I will always be proud of you. Speak ill of yourself again and I may have to strap your backside just for that.”

“Yes, sir.” Philip blushed even deeper. He didn’t know whether to feel touched by his father’s statement of pride or indignant that he’d just been swatted like a naughty child.

“So, in summary, I expressly forbade you from dueling and you defied my wishes for no other purpose than some ridiculous notion of dishonoring me. Am I missing anything?”

“No, sir.” Philip felt all the part of naughty schoolchild now. 

“Very well. My words have apparently not gotten through to you but maybe my razor strop will. Lower your breeches and bend over my desk.”

“Yes, Father,” Philip knew that if he ever was to convince his parents that he was a man, that he was capable of dueling, then he also had to be ready to take his punishment like a man. He walked quickly over to the desk and willed his slightly shaky hands to unbutton his pants. Taking a deep breath, Philip slid his breeches down over his hips and put his hands on the desk. His father wasted no time, pushing firmly on Philip’s back and tapping his backside once with the doubled over strap before bringing it down with a loud crack.

“Ahh!” Philip exclaimed before he could stop himself, more from shock than even the pain. He resisted the urge to jump up, and instead shifted his hands to grip the edge of the desk, bracing himself for the next strike. To his surprise, instead of bringing the strap down again, his father spoke.

“I cannot do this. Not when this is an error I made so many times in my youth. Stand up and fix your breeches.”

“Father?” Philip looked at his father curiously. Surely, he couldn’t be that lucky that his father would end the punishment there?

“I know I’ve thrashed you with the strop twice before, but I cannot bring myself to do it today. I will take you over my knee as when you were a child. Go change into your night shirt and then ask your mother to lend us her hairbrush.”

“Father—," Philip began, his face reddening. Bending over his father’s desk was humiliating enough but laying over his father’s knee for a spanking would be mortifying.

“Now, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Philip replied, trying to keep some of his dignity by not whining and fighting about his punishment.

 “And Philip?”

“Yes, Pa?”

“I would recommend you not wear anything under your nightshirt.” It sounded like a suggestion, but Philip knew an order when he heard it.

“Yes, sir.” Philip hurried out of his father’s office and upstairs to his bedroom. He quickly changed his clothes and went back downstairs, avoiding looking at himself in the hallway mirror.

Philp entered the parlor to find his mother reading to his two-year-old sister, Eliza, while his youngest brothers, nine-year-old John and four-year-old William, sat on the floor playing with their toy soldiers. John looked up at Philip with a smirk. The eldest Hamilton had spanked his little brothers on occasion when he was left in charge of the children, and having seen Philip be pulled by the ear just minutes earlier, John was old enough to know the same was about to happen to Philip.

“Mama, will you please lend me your hairbrush?” Philip said, having given up all hopes of presenting himself as a man in favor of pleading for his mother’s sympathies. He saw his mother look up at him sternly before her expression softened at the sight of her son looking younger than his nineteen years. She nodded, putting her now sleeping toddler down on the sofa beside her.

“Look William, Pa’s gonna spank Philip.” William whispered loudly to John. Philip felt his face flush. Here he was, standing in front of two of his little brothers, in his nightshirt no less, a few moments away from being spanked by his father.

“Why?” William asked.

“I dunno. He musta been really naughty,” John replied, needling his older brother. Philip glared at his little brother but knew he couldn’t look very intimidating at the moment.

“John, I’m sure your father would be willing to take you over his knee first if you find this so amusing,” Eliza said calmly, returning to the room with the hairbrush.  Philip shot his mother a look of gratitude which she returned with a stern look.

“Sorry Mama,” John said sheepishly.

“Hear me now, Philip Hamilton, if this ever happens again, I will spank you with my hairbrush before insisting that your father uses the strop on you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama. I’m sorry that I frightened you,” Philip said softly, guilt starting to set in.

“Go on Philip,” Eliza said not unkindly, “Don’t keep your father waiting.” She handed him the hairbrush and despite her stern demeanor moments before, Philip could detect sympathy in her expression.

Philip walked into the study to find his father sitting perched on the front of his desk, reading from a handful of papers. When his son entered, he put the papers to the side and held his hand out for the hairbrush. Philip took a few small steps toward his father, each one seeming harder and harder to take.

“Let us not waste words. You know why you’re being punished. Now, come here and bend over my knee,” Alexander said, pushing himself back on the desk and grabbing Philip firmly by the upper arm. Philip felt himself being pulled to stand between his father’s spread legs before being put over his father’s right thigh, his torso resting on the desk.  His father flipped his nightshirt up, leaving him bare from the waist down.  Philip couldn’t believe how childish he felt. Nineteen years old and about to have his bare bottom smacked over his father’s knee as if he were nine.

“Let’s begin,” Alexander said, tapping his son’s backside. Philip knew how punishment would proceed.  His father was a fairly predictable spanker. He would give a few warning taps before settling into a steady rhythm for the duration of the punishment. True to form, following the warning tap, the hairbrush came down with a pop.

As he felt the hairbrush descended repeatedly on his bottom, Philip couldn’t help but think back on the previous times he had found himself over his father’s knee. While spankings weren’t frequent by any means, Philip had found himself at the mercy of his father’s palm or his mother’s hairbrush more than a few times, mostly due to his quick wit coming out in inappropriate circumstances. He had his father to thank for passing that down to him.

“Ahh,” Philip let out when his father landed a smack on a spot that was already acquainted with the brush. His father did not soften his blows, but changed up his pattern, smacking one side Philip’s backside and then the other, back and forth, back and forth, until Philip couldn’t help but tap his feet on the ground to try to relieve some of the sting. Philip was starting to sniffle, humiliated by the childish position and really, really sore.  Finally, he gave a frustrated kick.

“Something wrong, Philip?” Alexander asked, not pausing the rapid onslaught of smacks.

“I’m too old for this,” Philip ground out through gritted teeth. His bottom felt like he had just sat in the fireplace.

“No, Philip, you are not too old,” his father replied, “In fact you are too young.  Far, far too young to die because that is what could easily have happened today.”

“Father, you said yourself, you dueled in your youth,” Philip replied.

“I would advise you not to argue with me in this position,” Alexander said, bringing the hairbrush down twice on each of Philip’s upper thighs. “However, you are correct. I was involved in duels, but I was young and foolish and did not have a father to correct me.”

“I had to defend your name. Our name.”

“No, what you had to do was _listen_ and _obey,_ ” Alexander said, the hairbrush coming down in time with his words.

“Pa, I’m not a child!”

“You are Philip. You are my child. Your mother’s child. Did you spare a thought for your mother? For me? We can’t lose you. _I can’t lose you_.” Alexander’s voice cracked at the last sentence. Hearing the emotion from his father took the breath out of Philip. Finally, he understood. He could have died. He could have ruined his family. He could have devasted his father and broken his mother. At that thought, Philip let out a loud sob, his head down on the desk and his shoulders shaking. His backside was on fire and he was so sorry.

“I see I’m finally getting through to you,” Alexander said after clearing his throat.

 “I’m sorry, Pa,” Philip sniffled.

“See that you don’t make this mistake again,” Alexander said, “The consequences may be far worse than a tanning.”

Philip didn’t even notice that his father had lightened his hand but increased the pace, covering his entire backside and upper thighs with stinging smacks. Philip just felt the blazing heat and laid limply over his father’s knee and cried. After a final rapid flurry of smacks, Alexander stopped and put the brush to the side.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, “Alexander said soothingly, rubbing Philip’s back. He continued to whisper reassurances as Philip struggled to regain control over himself.

“So sorry, Pa,” Philip cried.

“I know, son,”

“I’ll tell Mama I’m sorry too.”

“I’m sure you will.” Philip took a few more deep breaths before pushing himself off of the desk. Philip tried to back away from his father, but his grabbed his wrist gently, holding the young man between his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Philip said again to his father who was looking up at him sympathetically.

“Yes, you’ve mentioned that,” Alexander said, giving his son a small, sad smile, “Apologize to your mother and we’ll speak no more of it.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“I love you Philip, more than you can know,” Alexander said, and Philip felt himself pulled into a tight hug. His tears started up again, but he let them out, releasing the fear he’d felt since the whole mess with Eacker started.

“I love you too Pa,” Philip said, pulling away from the hug to look his father in the eye.

“I never want to do this again, Philip. Please don’t make me.”

“Yes sir,” Philip replied, “But Pa?” 

“Yes?” 

“Do you think Mama would mind if I tossed her hairbrush in the fireplace?”


End file.
